


I must confess, that the happiest moments of my life have been spent here, with you

by ohmybgosh



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Lots of holiday fluff, More Fluff, No Neil only happiness, Sibling Bonding, like its all just fluff, neil Hargrove can go suck a egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: Billy has a lot of feeling that he tries to deal with, all while battling a case of the Christmas spirit blues
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2020





	I must confess, that the happiest moments of my life have been spent here, with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hazel1706](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel1706/gifts).



> I hope you like this, dear friend, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday <3
> 
> The title isn’t from anything specific but I do owe the inspiration for this fic to the amount of gentle Westerns I’ve been reading and watching to get by these days

_December, 1985_

Christmas was a time of disappointment. Of waking up to find your letter to Santa had been intercepted, of nothing under the tree but things you never wanted like old socks and hand-me-down jackets, of hiding in fear under your bed during Christmas dinner because Dad put too much vodka in his coffee again, of staying up late and scribbling a letter to Santa for next year because you still haven’t learned not to hope, promising again and again you’ll be good this year and if Santa could please consider sending a few toys and maybe a visit from Mom in return. 

When Billy stopped believing in Santa he finally stopped believing in hope, too. There would never be any new toys or even new clothes, because Dad didn’t think he deserved them, and there would never be a visit from Mom because she didn’t love Billy enough to risk it. 

This year, Billy didn’t know what to expect.

Three major things had changed in Billy’s life, leaving him in a haze of uncertainty as he navigates this strange new world. Dad died, leaving Billy alone in a house with two women he can’t seem to understand. Billy, also had died, briefly, less than two minutes he was told, and returned to a place that never felt like home to him, even less so now. And the strangest thing was Brendan, was Billy’s Tuesday’s at 3:30 PM in a clean little office at 3 Main St., in downtown Hawkins, just a minute’s walk from St. Jude’s Roman Catholic Church and fifteen minutes from the Arcade and Family Video. 

_December 11, 1985, on a Tuesday, quarter to four_

“Think of this iceberg as your mind,” Brendan said. “See this part above the surface here? That’s the feelings you show the world, and yourself. But below here -“ Brendan drew a circle with his finger around the iceberg under the surface of the ocean, blue and dark and terrifyingly large “- this is what’s under the surface, your private thoughts and feelings you don’t show, maybe even ones you’re not aware you have. See, we only show the world ten percent of who we are. The rest, this 90 percent, is hidden.” 

It was December 11, 1985, on a Tuesday, quarter to four, and the sun already started its weary descent across the sharp blue sky, rays blindingly glistening off the frost that clung to Brendan Pfeifer’s office window. 

“Pfeifer?” Billy snorted on their first meeting in September of that year, slouching in the squishy leather chair across from Brendan’s matching one, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Yep!” Brendan had said, in a voice that made Billy’s eyes narrow, immediately too cheery. “Before you ask, no relation to Michelle! You can call me Elvira if you want, but I’d prefer Brendan.” 

He laughed at his own joke at the close of this rehearsed speech and Billy sunk lower into his chair, grimacing. 

Two months ago a coffee table separated them, decorated with a plastic vase and fake sunflowers. Billy had been grateful for the space between them, then. Today though, Brendan pushed the coffee table to the side to make way for a flimsy wooden easel with a poster board straight out of Psych 101. Today, Billy leaned closer than he had in two months. Brendan was growing on him, with his toothy grin, flamboyant ties and socks, and funny little sayings and quips that, had Billy known any better, could be considered “Dad jokes”. His liking for Brendan snuck up on him each week, and he found more and more that he looked forward to their meetings and began to think of Brendan with an unfamiliar fondness. 

“I thought Hemingway was a novelist,” Billy said, at present. 

Brendan’s face lit up like a Hallmark window display. 

“Yes! Exactly! But it’s a good analogy for the subconscious, don’t you think?”

He paused, smiling, and waited for Billy to respond. This was Brendan’s motif, listening. Certainly something Billy was not used to. Billy never made any effort to actually talk to anyone, but Brendan had a way of understanding him through the anger and the tears. Probably the therapist in him. 

“I have a theory I’d like to test on you, if that’s alright,” Brendan said, at the close of their session. “I think it would be good for you to have a concrete goal you can work towards, with a tangible award at the end that will boost your self-confidence. I know this sounds a little odd, but I’ve got a good friend who runs the community center at the church just down the street. There’s a little holiday parade the church does every year, and I know she’s looking for volunteers. I think it would be a great opportunity for you to help out with the project and maybe make a few friends in the process. I know for a fact they have their board meetings tonight, usually they wrap up around five. What do you think?”

_Later that day, approximately an hour_

Billy stood outside St. Jude’s Roman Catholic Church a few minutes after leaving Brendan’s office. Despite the cold air, Billy stood shivering at the icy stone steps, gazing up at the tall cathedral. The tip of the cathedral, an iron crucifix which seemed to cut a menacing hole into the palm of the reddish sundown sky, was the tallest man made point in Hawkins proper. Technically, the cliff face of the Quarry was just outside the town’s limit. 

St. Jude’s was a stone cathedral, adorned with stained glass windows, built by a French Canadian in the 1890’s with a fondness for the baroque. Lilliputian in size compared to its European and even Canadian kin, it was still the grandest building in Hawkins since the mall virtually exploded. 

The one remaining original stained glass window, the others being replaced on account of bored teens or other various natural disasters, was the one at the very top of the highest tower, a small octagon of plain periwinkle blue with an opal dove in flight. 

Toes going numb, Billy stood shivering on the steps still. He’d set foot in churches before and been baptized as a baby, none of which he could remember. This was all before Mom left. He still wore her crucifix. The night she left Billy rescued it from his Dad’s grief fueled rampage that tore a blazing warpath through their trailer in Southern California, snatching up every mememento of Hope Hargrove in its path, to be added to the funeral pyre of burning junk on the pavement out front. With the smell of gasoline burning his nose and tears in his eyes Billy rescued two things: the crucifix and a photo of him and Mom on the beach, hand in hand and hurdling, hollering with laughter, into the ocean. Her blond hair, curly like his, whipped behind her in the salty air. Billy wished his Dad, behind the camera, had called her name just before snapping the shot, to save her face for her son to remember later. 

The loud toll of the church bell made Billy jump, nearly slipping on the icy steps. Thinking ominously of Hemingway, Billy stumbled up the steps into St. Jude’s at precisely five o’clock. 

Just as Brendan predicted, the Community Board meeting adjourned, Hawkins’ retirees and overzealous parents getting up from their pews to mingle at two fold-out tables closest to the front doors, on which plastic Christmas themed tablecloths sat under a huge thermos of coffee and several plates of baked goods. The church, a huge open hall with tall ceilings and insulated only by stone, was frigidly cold. Whoever organized the meeting, however, hooked up a few space heaters by the refreshment tables, which made the whole thing a bit less unbearable. 

Chatting amicably amongst themselves, no one seemed to notice Billy for several minutes. He took a step forward and one of his boots squeaked on the floor. An older lady with gray hair and a sweater with birds on it looked up at him and smiled kindly, setting down her croissant. 

“Can I help you?”

“Uh,” Billy suddenly felt out of place. He took his knit hat off and ran a hand through his hair, which was just long enough to curl around his ears, having grown out from the cropped haircut from the hospital. “Yeah. I’m, um, looking to volunteer.”

“Oh, yes! You must be from Student Government?”

“Uh, no. From down the street, um, Br - Dr. Pfeifer…” he trailed off awkwardly, wringing his hat in his hands.

“Dr. Pfeifer!” The old lady clapped her hands together, and Billy wished she wouldn’t, as a few folks looked in with interest, recognizing him, their faces clouding over with one of two looks he had grown accustomed to: pity or disgust. 

“Yes! Such a kind neighbor, yes. Well, we’ve had a number of students from Hawkins High coming in for volunteer hours, and we could use more help with the Christmas parade. We’re going even bigger this year, what with all that happening this summer at the mall we thought the town could use some cheer, no?”

She said all this with the same smile neve wavering on her face. Billy stared at her, wondering if she doesn’t recognize his face from the brief campaign on the milk cartons, the obituary section of the papers, and finally the Sunday evening news story on channel seven. Either she didn’t recognize him, he decided, or she cared so much about her parade she can overlook the town freak, Zombie Boy Part 2, in front of her. 

“Um, sure.”

“Wonderful! So, I could use some help checking in with the local businesses. I know all the ones who are having a float in the parade, but sometimes they change their mind and forget to tell me. And most others have their doors open, with decorations and some free hot cocoa for folks watching the parade to warm up. I’d like you to go around and check with them, just make sure they’re committed. There’s a line here for them to sign, see? And then you can check off either ‘float’, ‘display’, or ‘not involved’. Does that make sense?”

She handed him a clipboard, with a list of several local businesses and boxes for each option. 

He grimaced at Family Video. 

“Does this sound alright, dear?” 

“Sure, I guess.”

“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands again. “You can take your time with that, I know it’s a big list. What did you say your name was again, dear?”

“Billy,” he said. 

“Lovely to meet you, Billy.”

_December 12, four in the afternoon_

Standing outside of the video store, Billy gripped his clipboard tightly. He’d gone to every other shop on Gayle’s list, purposefully procrastinating the video store, because the thought of being face to face with Steve Harrington, whom he’d managed to avoid since returning from the dead, brought forth too many unpleasant feelings that even Brendan would struggle to unpack. 

Billy teetered in the parking lot. It felt like the steps of St. Jude’s; even though he’d never been a religious person there was definitely some higher power telling him “you’re not welcome here.” 

He knew Harrington worked here, and his band camp buddy, but he half hoped Steve would be off today, maybe that creepy arcade manager would be working instead. 

When he stepped through the door and the bell tinkled he silently kicked himself for hoping. 

Both Harrington and the girl were there, laughing as she tried to toss a piece of peppermint into his mouth from across the store, his mouth agape where he stood behind the counter. It missed, landing in his hair. They turned, still grinning, at the sound of the bell. 

“Sorry, hi, welcome to - ” the girl, Robin her name tag read, began, and then the smile faltered and her face paled, making her freckles stand out. 

The peppermint in Steve’s hair swung by a lock of fluffy hair as Steve looked up. His smile rounded out into a surprised “Oh”. 

Billy felt his face boiling. Grimacing, making eye contact only with a copy of A New Hope that sat on the counter, he marched up to Steve, clutching his clipboard so tightly in his hands he thought it might snap.

He set it onto the counter with too much force, making the Star Wars VHS jump an inch in the air. 

“Are you participating in the Christmas parade this season?” he asked, bluntly and in a rush, fumbling over the “p’s” despite practicing for a half hour in front of the mirror this morning. He wanted to sound authoritative, but instead he felt like a twelve year old choir boy asking door to door if “excuse me, ma’am, but do you have a moment to hear the good word about our Lord n’ Savior Jesus Christ?”

Steve swallowed. 

“Um, well, I haven’t been in a while.”

“He means the store, dingus.” 

Robin crossed the floor to stand behind the counter, beside Steve, and rolled her eyes at him. 

“Right? You mean the store?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll be open. I think Keith - the boss, I think he’s setting up a table of free cookies or whatever. But we’re not in the actual parade, no.”

“Great, thanks.”

Billy picked up his clipboard, putting a check next to “display” for Family Video. When he looked up, Robin was pulling the peppermint out of Steve’s hair. Steve winced and batted her hands away. 

Billy turned to go. He stopped at a holiday movie display when he heard Robin say something in a hushed voice to Steve. 

“Did you need something else?” Robin asked, louder, directed at him. 

“No.” He stuck the clipboard under his arm, picking up a copy of A Christmas Story and pretending to read the back. 

He felt sick, bypassing the whistling kettle anger and heading straight for the nauseous self-hatred that liked to show its face when people talked about him. He should have just walked out, just left and not heard what Steve Harrington thinks of him, but he feels rooted to the spot. 

“Anyway,” Robin continued, again in the hushed voice. “Hanukkah. You’re coming, right? Because I know Dad’s going to be a wreck this year without Babcia. And I don’t think I can deal with that on my own.”

Billy’s heart stopped hammering wildly. He remembered one of the first things that he listened to from Brendan, when he said that just because someone was whispering it wasn’t always about him. 

“Yeah, ‘course I’ll be there!”

“Promise?” 

“Scouts honor.” 

Billy looked up, and in the reflection of the store window he saw Steve salute her. 

“No way you were ever a Boy Scout, dingus.”

Robin punched his arms, and he grumbled in discomfort, and Robin laughed but not in a malicious way. She laughed with delight, with slight tears at the corners of her eyes, her eyes which lit up merrily. 

Billy clenched his fist so hard he thought for a moment he might break his fingers. He felt his face heating up with a shallow anger, and he thought of Brendan and his iceberg. Billy felt an overwhelming hatred for the 90 percent, for the iceberg under the surface that was all cold and crushing loneliness. 

He left without a rental. The stupid silver bells jingled chidingly at him, as if waggling a finger in his direction for not having enough Christmas spirit. He stomped to the diner with the pay phone in front, where he’d call Susan for a ride home. The snow pelted his cheeks and nose. He couldn’t feel his face but for that he was grateful; the tears flowed freely and he pretended it was just the biting wind. 

_December 13, the morning of_

The next morning after Billy woke up in his customary cold, damp-with-sweat-from-nightmares-sheets, after taking his customary boiling hot shower and drinking too many cups of coffee, he retired to the living room couch with a third cup of coffee in hand and his clipboard at eight o’clock in the morning. 

Susan left for work already, heading to the hospital at seven thirty exactly, giving Billy a hesitant kiss on the cheek when he emerged, showered and changed. Max slept late on the weekends, usually stumbling down the hall around ten. Billy, who used to be able to conk out for twelve hours at a time, couldn’t sleep past six nowadays. In the first weeks since returning he’d wait to emerge until Susan left and hole up back in his room before Max woke up. Now, though, he was ok with Susan’s awkward attempts at affection and conversation in the morning. He was ok with Max shuffling into the kitchen, blearily pouring a cup of coffee and collapsing onto the couch next to him, shoving her somehow always freezing feet into his lap. 

In the morning Billy usually put on the news. He used to hate the news, his dad liked to watch conservative channels, but now in his freedom Billy picked his own favorite channels.

Half listening to a story about an airplane crash, he scanned the clipboard while sipping his coffee. 

Gayle said he could take a few days, but he was done already. He figured he’d drop the form of today. 

He paused at Family Video, and stared at the long underscore where an employee’s signature should have been. 

Fuck. He’d have to go back. 

He glanced at the clock, but it was way too early, they didn’t open until eleven and how dumb would he look if he showed up first thing in the morning anyway? 

He tuned in and out of watching the television until Max came in for coffee, at her usual time. He heard her pouring the coffee, sticking it in the microwave, and then the sounds of too much milk and sugar being stirred in. 

She sat down next to him, wiggling her bare toes under his knee and sipping her coffee. 

“What’s this?” She nodded at the TV, where the news has transitioned to speculation about Ronald Reagan’s new autobiography. 

“Can you go to MTV?”

“Do it yourself, lazy ass,” Billy said, though he stood and strided to the relatively old and small TV set and flipped through a few channels until he found the right one. 

When he flopped back down on the couch Max tucked her feet under him again. 

“What’re you doing today?”

“Why?”

“Lucas has family over and Dustin’s going shopping with his mom. And I’d rather die than hang out with Mike alone.”

“So? How’s this my problem?”

“Shithead.” Max punched him. 

“Ow.”

“Hang out at the arcade with me.”

“No.”

“Why? What else are you doing?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

_December 13, late evening_

Max ended up kicking his ass at every game, which he pretended to be annoyed about but was actually a bit proud. Lucas, whose family stopped at the video store to grab a rental and say hi to Steve, popped into the Arcade around five in the afternoon, brightening when he spotted Max. 

He invited her to dinner, with an uncomfortable, pitiful glance Billy’s way. 

Max looked excited. 

“Can we go?” she asked Billy. “Mom always lets me, I’ll call her from Lucas’ house.”

“You go,” he said. “I got some stuff I gotta do.”

“What stuff? You don’t want to come? How are you getting home?”

“None of your business. I’ll call Susan.”

Lucas’s family, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair and Erica and someone who looked like an aunt or a cousin, waited in the car outside, watching them through the window. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair gave Billy pitying looks, while the aunt or cousin looked curious and unaware, and Erica stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Billy,” Max began.

“You go. Have fun.” He ruffled her hair and she tried to duck away unsuccessfully. “Call your mom as soon as you get there.”

Family video closed at eight in the evening, and Billy loitered about in the Arcade until 7:30, working up the nerve to face Steve and ignoring the looks patrons gave him. 

He finally forced himself to walk the few steps to the video store and pull open the door. The bells tinkled and he glanced up, frowning when he noticed someone had hung a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway at some point since he’d last come in. 

He pretended to be surprised when Steve, who had been vacuuming the empty store, looked up, several emotions flickering across his face, and knelt down to turn the vacuum off. 

“Oh, hey,” Steve said. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, which glistened with sweat in the fluorescent lights overhead and the too bright Christmas lights hung in the front windows. 

Billy felt too hot looking at him. He tugged at his collar, cursing himself for not changing out of this stupid sweater before he left. 

“Hey.” What was he supposed to be doing here, again? It wasn’t to stare at Steve, whose pants were perhaps a bit too tight in the pelvic area. 

He shuffled his feet, the clipboard under his arms slipping a bit. Oh, right. 

“Uh, I’m supposed to get your signature, or whoever, doesn’t matter. Just for, you know…” 

For what? He winced internally, he wasn’t even sure. 

Steve nodded as if this made sense. He wiped his hands on his jeans, which shouldn’t have made Billy’s heart leap in his throat but it did, and came over to Billy, holding out his pink and slightly sweaty palms for the clipboard. 

Billy held it out for him. Their hands brushed when Steve took it from him; his hands were warm and soft and Billy suddenly wished they were standing in the doorway, so that he’d have an excuse to grab Steve by the shoulders and kiss him as though his life depended on it. 

“Got a pen?”

Billy nodded, pulling one from his pocket, and Steve’s fingers again brushed his as he reached for it. 

Steve, this close, smelled so good, crisp and clean, like Susan’s favorite candle that was called Fresh Cut Gardenia and she only lit on special occasions as it was one of those expensive department store buys. 

Billy took a tiny step back, heat rising to cheeks. He felt self conscious of his own smell, cigarettes and budget cologne and a hint of motor oil at the knees of his jeans from helping Susan work on her car a few days back. 

“Here you go,” Steve said. He handed Billy the clipboard and pen. “Hope it’s ok I signed. Normally Keith does this kind of thing, or Robin, but I’m closing tonight.”

“It’s fine,” Billy said. He stuck the pen back in his pocket, clipboard under his arm, and glanced at the floor. 

“Well - ”

“I guess - ”

“Sorry - ”

“No,” Billy said breathlessly. “Sorry, what were you gonna say?”

Steve smiled at him. “Just, um, good to see you, man. You look good.”

Billy blinked at him. Steve looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink. 

“I mean,” Steve said, “I mean, your hair. I like it.” 

He gestured awkwardly. 

“Thanks,” Billy said. He wasn’t sure Steve heard him; he could barely hear his own thoughts as his heart pounded in his ears. 

But Steve smiled, and said something sheepish that sounded like, “No problem.”

Billy didn’t remember leaving, though he was sure he did, when he wound up outside his house an hour later, fingers and toes frozen though he barely felt that. He blinked at his reflection in the glass window pane on the front door. The person was smiling, and his eyes looked dreamy like he was floating. With stiff fingers Billy touched his mouth, prodding his blue lips just to make sure the smile was real. He tugged at a lock of his hair, curling around his freezing ear, and grinned wider at himself. 

The door swung open just then. 

“Oh, Billy!” 

Susan flung her arms around him, pulling him into the warm house. She clutched him tight and Billy stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. 

“We were so worried! Oh, Billy, look at you, you’re freezing cold! What happened? I told you to call me when you’re done! Oh, Billy, you should’ve called, you shouldn’t walk home like that, you’ll get sick. We nearly called the police.”

She pulled away, frowning disapprovingly at him now. 

“Call me next time, you understand? Come on, come sit, we’ll get you blankets and some hot soup.”

She led him to the couch, where he sat, bewildered. 

Max was sitting in Billy’s Dad’s old easychair, staring at him. Her eyes were red and puffy and her knees pulled in close to her chest. She sniffled when he met her eyes and looked away sharply. 

Susan returned, a steaming bowl of soup in her hands. 

“Here, dear, eat this, it’ll warm you up.”

She draped a blanket around his shoulders, and sat on the couch beside him, turning the TV on low, to the Twilight Zone, and watched Billy out of the corner of her eye, as if afraid he’d disappear. 

He ate in silence, and after the first episode ended, and Rod Serling began again, Max came over, squeezing in between him and Susan. She laid her head on her Mom’s shoulder and tucked her feet, warm, for once, into Billy’s lap. 

That night Billy lay in bed, thinking a great many things, but not of the usual monsters that kept him up late at night and wouldn’t let him sleep enough to feel at ease. This time he thought of Steve, who liked his hair and smelled like expensive candles. And he thought of Max, who cried when he didn’t come home. And of Susan, who made him soup and almost called the police and who was upset with him for not calling, upset because she had worried about him, which, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, he wasn’t sure anyone had in a long time. 

_December 14, afternoon_

“Here,” Susan said, passing Billy a few folded bills, glancing at him in the passenger seat. “You have the list?”

“Yeah,” Billy patted his pocket. 

“I’ll be quick, just down the road at the school. It shouldn’t be long, just a standard parent-teacher conference. And no candy, yes?”

She turned around in her seat to give Max a stern look. 

“Yep, yep, got it.” Max, already unbuckling, rolled her eyes at the ceiling of Susan’s old station wagon. 

“No wandering. Stay together.” 

Susan looked worriedly at Billy. 

“No wandering, Mom, we got it. Can we go?” Max sighed, annoyed. 

“Yes, go on. I’ll be quick. Just wait for me outside, won’t you? Billy?”

Max hopped out of the car, and Billy, unbuckling and hopping out after her, tossed a “Promise!” Of his shoulder before shutting the passenger door. 

Max hurried into the grocery store and Billy followed, glancing once back to see Susan waiting for them to enter safely inside before backing slowly out and driving off towards Max’s school. 

Billy grabbed a basket and Max made a beeline for the candy aisle. 

“I’m telling Susan,” Billy said when she tossed a packet of MnM’s into the basket. 

“You wouldn’t dare, asshole.”

“Yeah? Try me.” He pulled the list out of his pocket, squinting at Susan’s nurses’ chickenscratch. “Get me a KitKat.”

He started toward the frozen aisle and Max trotted to his side, dropping the chocolate bar in the basket. 

“What kind of pizza do we get?”

“I don’t know. The cheapest kind.”

“No, like what flavor.” Billy looked down at the list. “Does this just say ‘pizza sauce’?”

“Gimme.” Max snatched it. “No, it’s ‘pizza - sausage’.” 

“Just sausage?”

“I don’t know, whatever.”

“What kind does your mom like?”

“The one with peppers and onions.”

Billy pulled a box out of the freezer, scanning the ingredients, and, satisfied, placing it into the basket. 

“Oooooooh, Billy, can we get this?” Max called from down the aisle. 

“What?”

She tapped a freezer door, where hundreds of boxes with a rectangle pastry with an off putting face grinned at them. 

“Toaster Strudel? What the fuck is a Toaster Strudel?” 

“Mike’s sister eats them. It’s like a fancy frozen Pop-Tart.”

“That sounds disgusting. Why would you freeze a Pop-Tart?”

“No, idiot, you don’t eat them frozen. They just come like this and you put them in the toaster.”

“Huh.” He grimaced at the pastry. “Why is it looking at me like that?”

Max giggled. “‘Cause it knows you’re not fancy.”

“Not like Nancy.”

“Nope.”

“How much are they?”

“Um - ”

“Whoa, bullshit. C’mon, we’re not dining at the Ritz here. Let’s circle back when we have all your Mom’s stuff and see if we can swing it, kid.”

He ruffled her hair and she punched him, laughing. 

“What’s next?” Max asked. 

He passed her the list, she’d have better luck with it anyway. 

“Ewwwww corned beef. Let’s pretend they’re out.”

He snorted. “You never eat it anyway.”

“It looks like dog food - hey, Steve!” 

Max waved suddenly. Billy spun around. 

Steve and Robin were in the baking aisle. Both looked up at the sounds of Max’s voice. Max, to Billy’s dismay, trotted down the aisle to talk to them. 

After a moment of debating leaving her there and hiding in the cereal aisle, he swallowed hard and followed after her. 

“Hey!” Robin said brightly, first to Max and then to Billy. 

Steve, who had a carton of eggs clutched tightly in his hands, gave Billy a small smile. 

“What’re these for?” Max asked. “Is Dustin doing another project?”

Robin snorted. “You heard about the microwave and the eggs too?”

“Hey!” Steve said. “It could’ve worked, we just didn’t have the timing right.”

“Ohhhh, right, the timing.” Robin turned to Max. “My Dad’s having a breakdown because he can’t find my grandma’s recipe book so Steve’s gonna help me follow the box.”

She plucked a package of Matzo meal from a shelf. “Quick and easy!” it proclaimed. 

“You trust him? After he put an egg in a microwave? For five minutes, no less?”

“Hey! I did what I did in the name of science.”

“If you stopped doing everything Dustin and Erica tell you to do you probably wouldn’t be buying your Mom a new microwave for Christmas,” Robin said, though with an affectionate smile. 

Steve sighed. He looked at the carton of eggs forlorn, for a moment, then shook his head and glanced up at Billy, who had been silently watching this exchange, feeling uncomfortably like an outsider, even beside his own sister. 

“You guys doing some Holiday shopping?” Steve asked.

“Not really,” Billy said. “Just...shopping.”

He shifted the basket, feeling embarrassed about the cheap frozen pizza and candy, whereas Steve and Robin were making a homemade dinner for her Dad. 

Neither seemed to notice the basket, however. Robin was explaining something to Max about soup. Steve still looked at Billy, with his kind and beautiful brown eyes and those stupidly long and thick eyelashes that belonged on a porcelain doll. 

“How’s the parade stuff going?” Steve asked. 

“It’s good.”

“That’s good. Hey, you should stop by the store sometime. I mean, if you want, of course.”

“Yes,” Billy said, too quickly, and he blushed. 

“Cool.” Steve smiled at him. 

Robin and Steve departed with goodbyes shortly after. Max kept giving Billy knowing looks that normally would have annoyed him, but he felt too hopeful to care. 

_December 15, Family Video_

“Hey!” Robin said, looking up from the counter, where she scanned several titles for a woman with a little kid dancing around her legs, when Billy walked in. “Be right with you.”

“Timothy, stop that,” the woman snapped, as her son got melted snow all over the carpet.He stopped dancing around her and proceeded to tug at her jacket, chanting, “Can we go now?”

“Would you like a bag for these?”

“No, thank you, I’m all set.”

“Alright! Have them back in a week to avoid a late fee.”

“Thanks. Tim - stop it, Mommy’s talking. Are you open on Christmas?”

“No, Ma’am. We close at four on the 24th and we reopen, normal time, on the 26th.”

“Perfect. Thanks, yes, baby, now we can go.”

The woman and her son turned away from the counter, the woman tucking the movies into her purse and looking up to make fleeting eye contact with Billy. 

Time seemed to slow. He knew her face would change, to one of the two expressions, and he’d gotten so used to it by now he could usually just sneer at them until they’d hurry away. But this time, with Robin watching, he felt queasy and his hands shook in his pockets and he wished he had waited a minute or two longer. 

The woman’s eyes widened slowly, her lip quivered, as if in fear, and then her mouth went crooked, an ugly crease formed between her eyebrows and she looked at Billy with the disgust and terror akin to finding a dead rat in the safety of your own home. 

“Timothy,” the woman said sharply, and grabbed her son by the arm. “Let’s go.”

Holding the kid close, she edged around Billy and out of the store. The door shut, the bells tolling, and the cold air from outside slapped him in the face. 

He heard Robin make a “tch” sound.

“Bitch,” she said. “When I told her we’re closed for Christmas, the look on her face, like I killed Santa Clause or something. Spend time with your shitty kid for one day of the year, lady.”

Billy nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Robin. His hands still shook and he was afraid she’d be staring at him with pity. 

“Steve just ran out for his break. He’ll be back in a few minutes though.”

Taking a breath, Billy looked up. 

“Retail is disgusting,” she continued. “Everyone comes in here with a fever, coughing and sneezing all over.” 

Robin wasn’t looking at him, instead spraying the counter with some heavy duty disinfectant. When she did look up, after swiping the surface down with a paper towel, she didn’t look disgusted or sad. Instead, she smirked, a knowing smile that dimpled her cheeks and crinkled her eyes and reminded Billy of the one he’d seen her give Steve whenever she teased him. 

“He thinks your haircut is nice.” 

He blushed. 

Robin’s smile widened. “Steve’s cute, isn’t he?”

“Are you two - ?”

“Ew, no. No, I love him, but he’s my best friend. Not, heh, not my type. Like, at all.”

“Oh.” He hesitated, and stepped closer to the counter, hands still shaking in his pockets but now for a different reason, which made him feel warm and fluttery instead of cold and sad. 

“Does he have a type?”

“Not really.” Robin shrugged. “He’s kinda shallow, don’t tell him I said that. Not in a bad way, just, he likes blondes and swimsuit models, you know?”

“Oh.” He deflated. 

“But that’s the superficial part, just the bit on the surface. Deep down - he doesn’t like to admit it because he doesn’t want to seem soft or whatever - but deep down he’s very sensitive.”

“Oh,” he said again, this time a bit hopeful. 

“When I say swimsuit models I mean bikinis and speedos, you know?”

“I see.”

“Yeah. What do you like?”

“Just, um, just speedos.”

“Right on.”

_December 18, just before four_

“I think,” Brendan said to him, during their Tuesday afternoon session, “that without your dad you’re flourishing. But it’s all very frightening to you, because you don’t know how to be without him. And you do miss him, don’t you? It’s ok, hey, it’s alright. Here, have a tissue. I know, I know it’s hard.” 

_December 21st, the day of the parade_

Susan dropped him off at St. Jude’s at five, an hour before the parade was to begin. Floats being hooked up to pick-up trucks were already idling in the parking lot, participants hanging up the finishing touches of tinsel and lights. 

“Call me when you’re done?” she asked, putting the old station wagon into park. 

“I will.”

“I mean it, it’s freezing out.” Her breath puffed out against the windshield in agreement.

“I will, I promise.”

“Have fun. Here, I wasn’t sure if they’d give you dinner or not, but…” She pressed a saran wrapped ham and cheese sandwich into his hands. “Just in case.”

“Thank you,” he said, throat closing up, oddly touched.

“Billy?” Susan said, as he opened the door to go. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m really proud of you.”

When she drove off he stood there for a moment, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt warm despite the air, a flightless feeling in his stomach that took him several moments to realize was happiness. He’d spent the last several days helping a bunch of church ladies set up for Christmas, and hanging out with Steve Harrington. Two things that seemed more out of place and unlikely than the last. But here he was, smiling and sniffling at a slightly squashed ham and cheese sandwich.

Shaking his head, he stuffed the sandwich into his pocket and hurried into the church. 

Gayle was decked out in a hideous Christmas sweater, and looked delighted to see him. 

“Billy! Hello! Yes dear, right this way, come. I’ll have you pass out these maps, we made them very clear this time around, for the parade route you see. If Dale’s Hardwear gets lost again, well, it’s not my fault!”

He went to see Steve as soon as the parade people knew where to go. The video store wasn’t that busy, only a few patrons looking at movies and snacking on the same store-bought cookies most other stores had put out. 

Steve was the only employee there, and he waved to Billy when he entered. 

He looked positively adorable, in a red and green striped sweater with a clip on bow tie on his collar. 

“Nice,” Billy said, when he crossed the store to stand beside Steve at the counter. He flicked the bow tie for emphasis. 

Steve grimaced. “Thanks. Keith made me where it. It’s better than the Scoops uniform at least.”

“I liked it.”

Steve’s ears turned pink. He was looking at Billy with a strange expression, as if taking him all in and, stranger still, liking what he saw. 

Billy took his hat off, and ran a hand through his hair, remembering that people used to like the way his curls fell on his forehead. 

“Listen,” Billy began. “I wanted to ask you something, but, um….Sorry, I’m not good at this.”

“Me neither,” Steve said in a rush. “I used to be, I don’t know what happened. I guess, I guess it’s a part of growing up.”

He laughed awkwardly, and there was a darkness in his eyes that told Billy there was something that made Steve grow up too soon, too. 

“Must be.” Billy twisted his hat in his hands. “Either way. I was wondering if you, um, want to go to a movie sometime. With me. Or, or dinner, if you’ve. I don’t know, had enough of movies?”

He ended with a gesture around the store, to which Steve smiled. 

“Dinner would be great.”

“Really?” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it slipped out breathlessly in his relief. 

“Definitely.”

“Cool.”

“So it’s a date.”

“A date.”

“I think the parade’s coming.”

“Huh?”

“The parade? They must be heading back.”

“Oh.” Billy had forgotten. He glanced out the front windows of the video store, and, indeed, the parade was making its way back to St. Jude’s, inching along Main Street, lights flickering merrily, Jingle Bells blasting and truck tires spitting slush at the crowds gathered to watch. The few people in the store hurried out for a closer look.

Steve went to the front door and Billy followed. 

Billy never liked parades, or Christmas, but as he watched Steve, the Christmas lights casting a soft glow on his skin, making his eyes almost twinkle. 

“It’s kind of pretty,” Steve said. 

“Yeah.” He really was. 

Steve turned away from the window. 

Billy figured he had to seize the opportunity, as it presented itself so perfectly then.

“Mistletoe,” he said hopefully, something he couldn’t stop feeling lately. 

Steve looked up, blinked slowly, and then looked back at Billy. “Isn’t it bad luck if you don’t?”

“Definitely,” said Billy, who had no idea. 

He leaned in and Steve met him more than halfway there, cupping the back of Billy’s neck with one hand and pushing his fingers through Billy’s short hair. As the Christmas lights and Jingle Bells faded down the street he kissed Steve Harrington and it was perfect. 

Steve tasted like peppermint and store-bought sugar cookies, and he smelled like Susan’s favorite candle and a little like Robin’s heavy-duty disinfectant, and he was perfect. 

Steve pulled back, letting out a shaky breath, mouth pink and wet. His hand fell to Billy’s shoulder, warm, and stayed there. Billy felt goosebumps rise under Steve’s fingers, even through his shirt and jacket, and shivered for reasons other than the cold. 

“What are you doing after this?” Steve asked. 

Billy shook his head. “Nothing. Anything, anything you want.”

“You said dinner, but wanna go for a drive with me? I’m closing in half an hour, and I can drop you off, if you want.”

“I’d love to, yes, absolutely. Um, do you mind if I use your phone? Just want to let my stepmom know I don’t need a ride home.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
